


love was twisted and pointed at you

by blastellanos



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M, and in the narrative, but tagging it just in case it's triggering for some, but the approval is later in the fic i guess, kind of violent, there's big mood feelings, this is more dubious consent, very disgustingly dirty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 10:32:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14892954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/pseuds/blastellanos
Summary: James never thought it'd come to this. He prides himself on tightly wound control over everything he does. He'sCaptain America. He's the leader behind the dish and with ease, he's stepped into that role with the Tigers. James needs so so badly to keep that control, wrapped up tight around himself and reigning everything in.





	love was twisted and pointed at you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badritual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badritual/gifts).



James never thought it'd come to this. He prides himself on tightly wound control over everything he does. He's _Captain America_. He's the leader behind the dish and with ease, he's stepped into that role with the Tigers. James needs so so badly to keep that control, wrapped up tight around himself and reigning everything in.

It's been years since he's let go of it. Since middle school where he'd snapped and he and another kid had gotten into a bad bloody fight. They'd grappled, rolled around the ground, and James had finally gotten the upper hand and pinned the kid down, striking at him, until he'd gotten pulled off.

The kid had spent a few days in the hospital and James had a week off school. And the shame and disappointment in his mom's eyes had made him vow to never do that again. But James had liked it. He'd liked the power, he'd liked the thrill of it, and for months after he dreamed about the feel of it.

They all say he mellowed out as he got older, but it wasn't that at all. James just keeps a tight handle on it. Grapples with it to a point of feeling like he's going to break. It's fragile and he dances on the edge of it, every time knowing the right decision and keeping himself in line.

It's why he plays the peacemaker in brawls. If he got into it, he doesn't know where he'd wind up drawing the line. If he would.

Which is why José is such a problem. James doesn't have nice words to use to describe him, except the normal teammate-y things that he has to say. That come out like clockwork. James is a windup toy and his job is the coins they put in, where he parrots what the front office wants to hear with bland indifference.

Hate is a good word -- the way that José coils up under his skin. It's insidious, like a snake in the grass. His flashiness on the field and his attitude the rattle that warns everyone away. But James isn't scared of a little snake.

And at some point, all pests needed to be dealt with. José is a problem. Not anything in particular but he's like a rock in James's shoe, irritating and unhelpful.

(Unhelpful isn't entirely true; he's good defensively. _Sometimes_. When he tries.)

But that is the problem. José can be lazy, half assed plays, and he doesn't drive hard enough. Or he doesn't drive as hard as James thinks he should. Once-- once James let it get to him and he and José had had words.

Caught on camera too, but José was like a firecracker and shot right back. If Nick hadn't gotten between them, if Kinsler hadn't pushed them apart. Even now it licks a fire in James's blood and makes him want to make him pay. The audacity. That he even thought he could fight James.

But it's been worse this last year. From the end of last season to now. José is phoning it in. Probably has his agent on speed dial just waiting to see who would pay him money to get out.

And good riddance. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

But then -- the press conference.

It's lazy in the beginning of July, it's too fucking hot, in triple digits. And the trade deadline is looming like a physical presence, like a reaper come to carve more life from the team.

And Avila confirms his worst fears.

José is part of the rebuild. A change from the beginning of the year, but they aren't dealing him. There's guys who are gonna stay -- James is one of them too -- and that means a continued thorn in his side.

James can't abide this. Not the way it's going. It won't be like that anymore.

James waits. He waits until José is alone and then cuffs him by the back of the neck, fingertips digging into the skin. He hears the hiss of breath in.

"Let go of me!" José barks at him and he tries to throw James off. But it doesn't work and he digs his fingertips with enough force that José stops fighting. Against his thumb, he can feel José's heartbeat buzzing like a hummingbirds.

"We need to talk." James insists. He doesn't give José a choice and he nearly drags him down the hall. No one pays them any mind. James opens the door to an abandoned office, smelling like lemon scented pine-sol and disuse. He kicks the door shut behind him and pitches José forward.

José stumbles and he catches the desk in his side with a sharp curse and he turns to glare daggers at James.

"What the fuck?" José asks. There's red on his cheeks and James looks down at him like he's lower than a bug. If he could crush him under his heel, he would.

José goes to leave and James shoves him back again.

It's enough force where the desk rattles and José draws in a breath like the air's been knocked out of him.

"If you're gonna be a part of this team you better pull your fucking weight. You're on thin ice. Don't think anyone will save your ass this time."

"What you talking about? _Loco…_."

James narrows his eyes are José and grabs him by the shoulder, his fingertips digging in.

"I ain't crazy, José. I'm dead serious. Avila decided he likes you and you're stayin' so you better do your job."

"You not my boss."

James's fingers grind against the bone, pain flashing over José's face.

"Okay fine I get it. Let me go."

José mutters under his breath in Spanish, his tone unkind.

James shoves José again, this time driving him to his knees. José looks up at him, eyes flashing dangerously and James grabs a fistful of his hair and shoves him forward.

(Oh yeah, James likes this, this power. José couldn't stop him if he wanted to.)

He could shove José's face between his legs if he wanted. He could do anything he wanted. James lets go, before he loses control and nods at José.

José looks confused -- but not scared.

James probably won't have to do worse.

*

They have a chance to win it, bottom 9 and one more out. There's a runner on second and on third. As long as this isn't any kind of base hit, they're gonna come out on top.

The Royals are bad, but they hadn't beat them earlier in the year. Salvy Perez had been doing some damage and he lays down the sign to Greene.

Greene doesn't shake him off. The bat cracks off the ball and the movement isn't there, it ricochets off of the top of Iggy's glove and trickles into center field.

James doesn't even remember who crosses home plate, but just like that, the game is over on a walk off error. James is furious. He can feel it in the back of his throat. Tasting like bile. Sharp like swallowing glass.

He clenches his fists and he almost goes over to José right then.

But no -- no cameras.

No teammates.

(Later, then.)

They give interviews and Michael loses another start, struggling offense not getting him enough to overcome. Losing a game by one run is hard. Especially when it's preventable.

James watches the replay on his phone, grinding his teeth until his jaw aches. They leave tonight for the West Coast. A plane ride, and mini bottles of liquor they sneak behind Gardy do little to quiet the bubbling of rage he feels beneath the surface of his skin.

It feels like a hot coal centered in his chest. A little devil perched on his shoulder crowing in his ear about how he should make him pay. And the angel chiming in with righteous fury that he _had_ warned him.

It's later when they get out West. The plane ride, the game. It's raining in Seattle, and too hot and muggy. James hangs back and charms the receptionist for a copy of José's room key. He shouldn't do this.

But James doesn't have a choice. He'd told him what would happen.

Thin ice.

He lets himself into José's room and he hears the shower going. James sits on the edge of the bed and waits, listening to the water and José's offkey singing of Drake.

The shower goes on for an incredibly long time, the entire while, José is singing, even becoming garbled at one point where James assumes that José's put his head under the water.

James twists the duvet cover under his hands, getting angrier the more he has to wait. He's tired -- José was being inconsiderate.

José steps out eventually, his skin all red from hot shower, in just a towel around his trim waist. It's a lot to take in. He's got a few assorted bumps and bruises from the game, and his dark hair is sticking up in all sorts of directions.

José jumps when he notices him, crashing back against the table and sending a handful of pill bottles and different colognes skittering across the carpet.

José clutches the towel to himself like a demure maiden.

"How you get in?" José asks, James flashes the keycard and José stalks over. His first mistake.

José reaches for the keycard and James snatches his wrist and drags him down.

"I told you there'd be consequences." James is surprised how even his voice stays.

"What?" José asks and James drags José over his lap. It starts the struggle, José starts trying to squirm away and James bands an arm tight around his waist.

In his arms, fighting, José doesn't feel as weak as James thought he'd be. But James is bigger, he's stronger, he has the advantage of both leverage and not being caught by surprise. José's skin feels hot underneath his fingertips, even though he's breaking out in goosebumps. Somewhere in the fight, José's towel has gone askew. But this was no time for looking, now was a time of action.

But the view gives James and idea. He settles a hand in the small of José's back, pressing down, grinding the heel of his palm into the bone there. José hisses a breath in and keeps struggling, fighting against James.

"That's _enough_." James says and he brings his other hand down sharply over the tantalizing curve of José's ass. He watches the red mark from almost immediately and feels the way that José goes completely stock still.

"No-- no Mac -- you can't--" José starts, stuttering a little, like his tongue is tripping on the words. James cuts him off with another sharp slap, this time to the other cheek. That flood, that rush of feeling powerful cuts through him. It's like the first time he drank alcohol, making him feel heady and out of it.

He rains another sharp slap down.

"Mac-- James-- please, god, don't." José's voice sounds small and weak. And if this was a few weeks ago, or last year, James might have felt inclined to give in a little. To ease off. But it's now-- and James's sympathy is thin after the last game. And he might have been more lenient if it wasn't Salvador fucking Perez.

It's maybe unfair to even insinuate, to consider, to believe that there was something untoward going on. That José would miss the ball on purpose because he's friends with Perez. James wouldn't ever accuse him of that.

But as José begs for him to stop, and James gets lost in the sound of the palm of his hand cracking against José's skin. Where it starts to feel hotter and hotter, or maybe that's just the abuse his hand is taking. José's begging for him to stop sounds weirdly pitchy, and he can feel José scrabbling at the sheets, clutching at James's thigh, trying to squirm away.

There's a brief moment, a friction.

James freezes.

José is still struggling to get free but he can feel him, near rutting up against the inside of his thigh. Probably, likely, not intentional.

"Are you _getting off_ on this?" James tries to inject as much disgust in his tone as he can. He feels-- addled. The knowledge hits him like a fastball to the temple. His whole head feels full of cotton and if he focuses on anything beyond _trying_ to be put out by this, he might have to admit that--

Well, it's better to not.

José's face is streaked with tears, and he's flushed in an ugly blotchy pattern. It makes the dark moles peppering his skin stand out more, makes him look like he's been out in the sun too long. His dark eyes are watery and red, and his breathing is shuddery.

"No." It's hard to describe the tone as anything but petulant. James shifts his leg and rubs against José's obvious hard on. He spanks him again, causing José to yelp.

"Are you really in a position to be lyin'?" James asks. José sniffles a little. James studies him for a moment. José definitely looks better when he's crying. Something pathetic, something weak, simpering-- James could get used to that. He almost looks delicate like this, his eyes large and doe like.

José's face gets impossibly redder and he buries it against the covers, where he can. He sees the flush is spreading. José's nakedness is leaving little to the imagination. And it's all rose pink from embarrassment, angry red from where James's hand has rained down all over his ass and thighs. José's still shaking.

James clicks his tongue at him, like he's disappointed.

"So, not only do you throw the game--"

"I didn't--" James brings his hand down again, harder this time, cutting off any further protest.

"Not only did you throw the game," James repeats more firmly, "But when I try and teach you how it won't fly, you act like this is some kind of sex game. You're a little slut." James's voice twists on the word. It feels jarring rolling off his tongue.

But he's committed now.

"Is this why you let that happen? You got a thing for catchers bigger than you? You let him do whatever he wants to you and that's how you like it?"

They're more rhetorical questions.

He's not jealous of Salvador Perez.

"We aren't--"

James slaps him again.

"Am I gonna have to gag you?"

José doesn't respond.

"Good." James rubs his hand over José's ass, feeling the heat from the abused flesh and he digs his nails in, spreading José's cheeks. James clucks his tongue again.

"That's not okay, Iggy." James digs his nails in harder. "So I guess we'll have to correct your behavior."

The thing about this feeling, James doesn't know how to get it under control once he loses it. He doesn't have some secret weapon to push all of it back down. He might be able to rein it back in, once the immediate rewards are gone, it might go back to it's quiet, hidden place. It's not fair, or good, that José so quickly is able to coax it to the forefront.

This feels like one of those moments, where the decision, whatever it is, changes the course of everything else. José's shaking shoulders might still be him crying. James could make a choice, to bring himself to heel by sheer force of will. He could make that choice. He could comfort José, tell him that he hopes he's learned his lesson.

But the paths diverge there and while it maybe isn't the road less taken, it's definitely more dark and overgrown. James feels like his heart is going to thud out of his chest.

But José's enjoying it enough that the precome has leaked through James's pants, he can feel it wet, sticking to the inside of his thigh. Enjoy might be an improper word. But reacting to it. Maybe it's involuntary, maybe José is still crying, maybe there's a right decision and a wrong one.

Maybe both decisions are wrong. Or maybe this is just that moment; where James decides which path he's going to take. He can't rein it in. James spreads José's cheeks a little wider with one hand and he finally lets up from the small of his back, unpinning him. (José doesn't try and leave, it's acceptance. It's not saying _no_.)

James pushes his fingertips against José's mouth.

"Open."

José does, without question. James rubs his fingers over José's tongue, watches goosepimples raise on José all over, as his nails scrape along his tongue, rubbing against the saliva, pushing in far enough to where it's too wet, saliva leaking out the corner of José's mouth.

James pulls his fingers back and he notices that José doesn't seem to be shaking anymore. It's oddly quiet except the rain beating against the window and the hum of the HVAC system. James chews on his lower lip and then starts pressing a finger into José.

His palm is digging into where José's skin is all sensitive and ugly, angry red. But he can't help himself. José makes a piteous whining noise and squirms again, cock rubbing against James's sweatpants.

"Mac, you -- you can't. Don't." José mumbles and that should be enough to stop. His hand squeezes against José's fevered skin. "Ah fuck."

James watches as his finger disappears inside of José.

It's thrilling. It's _compelling_.

James isn't normally like this, and he can see the way José's shaking his head, but he can't stop. He won't stop.

He adds a second finger and starts thrusting in and out, feeling as José keeps leaking precome, or maybe his thigh is just so sticky, he doesn't know if he is or isn't anymore. But José's digging his nails into James's thighs.

But that's okay. James kind of likes it.

For a while, they're quiet like that, just José's harsh breathing and the sound that James's fingers make working in and out of José. It feels like both think words might break whatever is happening here, but James doesn't want something sweet or romantic.

And while he's being nicer now, he hasn't forgotten why he's come here.

"I'm going to make sure you remember who you play for." James says, apropos of nothing, and be steadily pushes a third finger in.

"Is too much, Mac, god--" José is cut off with a groans as James's fingers brush over his prostate. James smirks a little and makes that same motion again.

"It's not too much and you're going to take this. You're going to take it until _I_ say you can stop. Understand?"

José nods. James uses the opportunity to land another sharp slap on José's backside.

"I can't hear you."

José whimpers again.

"F-fuck I understand. Fuck just let me…" José seems like he's been struck with a stutter, his words not coming up right.

James spanks him again and presses his pinkie tight with his other fingers and starts working that in as well. José is covered in sweat now and he glances over his shoulders at James with a wild, wide-eyed look.

José looks nearly purple with arousal.

James feels a ping of something, like maybe his better judgement trying to get him to stop before he goes too far. But he doesn't listen to it and his thumb brushes against José's rim and he feels José shudder against him.

James curls his fingers inside of him a little and José breathes in harshly.

"Your hand's too--" José starts but James wraps his free hand around José's mouth.

"You got to stay quiet." James says with a low chuckle. "Can't let anyone else notice." He can feel the way José's breathing shudders as he breathes in heavy through his nose.

James tucks his thumb against the palm of his hand. José's so tight and James doesn't have small hands, and he could have prepared better -- if he'd known it was going to come to this.

José hiccups a sob against James's hand over his mouth and he can feel the track of his tears against his hand. He can hear him sniffle and feel that too, as he shakes and shudders.

And shifts his hips back against James's hand.

José is blubbering behind James's hand, getting it wet with spit too, the brush of his tongue as he tries to form words. But James is clamped too tightly around his mouth, preventing him from doing anything really. It's good.

It's so fucking good.

James isn't quite sure how he ever went so long without this. It's absolute control. For a moment, all that James can think about is how wholly he owns José right in this moment and how he wants to do so, so much more. His heart is racing.

He looks down at José stretched around his fingers, around the wide set of his palm, and he groans quietly, thrusting his hand a little experimentally. José makes a noise like he's choking and so James does it again, until José's skin is so flushed he looks like he could guide someone, with how bright red he is.

James draws his fingers out and then rubs the tips of them lightly over José, to feel him shudder while he brushes over sensitive skin. James isn't thinking right. He's not doing anything he would normally do, but he has to keep going. He doesn't know why.

He moves his hand away from José's mouth and wipes it on the bedsheets.

"I think you've learned your lesson." James says.

"Fuck you," José hisses out in response, "you got no right."

José hasn't moved, but the anger from before sparks back up and James spanks him on the ass again. José seems to know well enough, because he muffles his own shout into the inside of his elbow and he jerks forward, rubbing himself against James's thigh.

(He's still hard, James can feel it poking against him.)

"I'm a captain on this team." James spanks him again, "And I ain't gonna let you bring the team down because you wanna half ass this stuff. So you're gonna learn. If this is the way you gotta be taught then so be it."

"I not your whipping boy 'cuz you no how to call a game." José says. It's quiet, but not quiet enough. But if José says anything after that, it's lost in the roar of James's blood in his ears.

"What the _fuck_ did you just say?" James asks.

José can't sit up, but he looks over his shoulder at James again. He looks messy, his face all blotchy still, and his eyes are red, tears still clinging to his dark lashes, damp streaks down his face.

"You make a bad call. That why Salvy walked it off. You call it right where he can hit it. You the fuck up not me."

James hasn't ever understood the phrase white-hot anger until this moment. He feels it consume him like a wildfire, until every nerve-ending is burning with it. Until it's almost like smoke choking him out, until it's like his lungs are being squeezed together and he can't get a breath in. José's still looking back at him, dark eyes glittering like onyx, and his mouth set in a firm line.

Defiant.

James's fingers itch. He grinds his teeth together he near feels that he can feel the bones grinding down.

"I see." James finally says, but his hands are shaking, and he wants to slap the look off of José's stupid face.

"Yeah, so--"

"Shut up." James's voice is almost soft, deceptively gentle.

"Don't tell me what to do."

James digs his fingernails into the abused flesh of José's ass, so hard he feels his nails dig in, he feels the flesh dimple, he watches the grimace of pain wipe across José's face, and he doesn't stop, pressing and pressing. Wetness springs up to José's eyes again and James is nearly snarling with anger, his lips curled back.

He shuffles through things he could, or should say and discards them all, instead, he pushes José off from his lap and down onto the floor. He falls with a crash, not expecting it, and James takes the time he's dazed to cover José's body with his own.

José is trying to crawl away, nails dug into the carpet, and he snuffles a little.

"Stop, god -- fucking _stop_." José says, trying to buck James off.

But James has him in a good position and he grabs José by the back of his neck, presses him down like that, while his fingertips dig in deep into his skin. He's going to leave marks. He wants to leave marks so everyone knows.

"You can't make me." James says and he reaches down to fumble with his sweatpants and push them down. James hadn't even realized how much he'd liked this. Hadn't even realized how hard he'd gotten, but the inside of his boxers are sticky with precome, and he's hard and leaking still, as he springs free from his boxers.

"James, you no wanna do this." José sounds panicky a little, like maybe the realities have finally-- _finally_ set in.

James nudges the head of his cock against José's hole, watches as the flared head of it slips in, but it's a struggle, José is still fighting-- and god, it gets under James's skin like a match to gasoline. Explosive.

"Fuck." José hisses the word out and he scrabbles some more. It's hard to tell if José's trying to buck him off or rock back against him, with the way he moves and James keeps his hand pressed at the back of José's neck to keep him pinned there.

James slides into him, deeper, pressing in. Taking what he wants. Taking how he wants. James pushes José's face into the ground and uses his other hand to brace himself against the floor.

That's the last moment it's anything like controlled. Because once he sinks in, once he has José fully clenching around him, he just can't help himself.

His nails leave marks in the back of José's neck. José groans beneath him and he jerks back, grinds himself back against James's cock. James clamps his hand on José's hip and snaps his own forward, eliciting a cry.

James slaps his ass, a little harder than he means to, not that it'd matter if it was harder or not.

"Quiet." James growls at him. "You better fucking keep your mouth shut."

José shakes his head a little.

Maybe it's a not, maybe it's a shake of his head -- James doesn't know, he doesn't care. But he can't risk José being too loud, he can't risk him giving this away.

He grinds his face down more into the carpet.

"If you don't keep your fucking mouth shut I'll have to shut it for you and you don't want that, sweetheart." James clucks his tongue at him. James snaps his hips again and José cries out.

So James spanks him hard again. And then reaches around to shove his fingers into José's mouth.

"I'm gonna make you fucking choke on it." James growls out and he leans in, biting at José's earlobe. "If you can't keep your fucking mouth shut."

He hears José gag, feels the way he shudders under him and James keeps driving in. Harder and harder, until it's just the slap of skin against skin.

José's teeth are digging into James's fingertips. It's so good, he digs his fingertips into José's tongue. He can feel him leaking saliva out from the corners of his mouth, he can feel him swallowing around his fingers.

James grinds his hips in harder until José's breathing harshly through his nose, wound up, bucking backwards against James and they're moving, almost in tandem, like a ship being tossed at sea.

James doesn't want to admit how good it feels, how much he likes José clenching around him. José is panting like he's running a marathon and James can feel saliva dripping down his arm.

José bites down hard enough to bruise the skin when he comes.

James keeps fucking José through his orgasm, feeling him pulsing and clenching around him. It makes James clench his teeth and makes his chest ache. He draws out right at the end and comes all over the perfect curve of José's ass.

He stares at it for a moment like artwork, ropes of come against the bright red of José's abused ass. James feels like in a moment he comes back to himself and something burns low in his stomach.

He's not sure if it's lust or guilt or something else.

"Don't let it happen again." James says and he stands up, leaving José there.

For whatever reason, even after he's at the door, he can't quite catch his breath. He glances behind him and José's still there, laying face first on the ground.

James turns away from the door and frowns at José. He _wants_ to go.

James flips the lock on the door and tests it to make sure it won't open, then he moves back over to where José is at. He's just laying there, breathing, and James counts his breaths before he disappears into the bathroom. James washes his hands and looks at himself in the mirror, wondering if he can see the way he's become unchained.

But he still looks normal.

He still looks fine.

James settles down on the floor next to José and starts wiping him up. The cloth is cool and damp, and he hopes it feels soothing over the places where he's abused José's ass. It's still angry red, and he hears the way José hisses in a breath as he drags the cloth over him.

They don't talk. James doesn't know what he'd say if he did. There's no excuse for his behavior. And he's not sorry about it either, and he doesn't want to hear whatever ridiculous, contrived thing José has sitting under his tongue to try and explain away why he fucked up in the game.

James tells himself he can't lose control like that again.

"You okay?" James asks José after an impossibly long time has stretched on. (It's probably only a minute, maybe three.)

"Yeah." José sounds dazed.

"Alright." James says and he stands up, then bends down to lift José up. He's heavy and not going entirely willingly, so it's an awkward grab, but he manages to put José into bed. "Well, good night."

James tucks the covers up under his chin, then leans in to press his lips to José's forehead.

He's not sure why he does that.

He rushes out to escape José's confused expression.

***

José is watching him and James can feel it like water tickling down his spine. It makes him itchy and uncomfortable, between the shoulder blades. He doesn't like it. But James knows he also can't make a scene about it.

"What's his problem?" James asks irritably, to no one in particular, but Shane is sitting close enough, having a contest of who could put more pieces of _Bazooka Joe_ in their mouth with Nick, to where he turns.

With his hair, and the amount of gum in his mouth, Shane looks like a squirrel gathering up nuts for winter.

Shane says something, incoherent with the gum in his mouth. Nick's still unwrapping pieces and pushing them in, which makes James shake his head a little.

"I didn't catch that." James says to Shane. Shane repeats himself with the gum tucked in one cheek so James can make out an approximation of what Shane is saying.

James points vaguely.

"José's." James says. Shane and Nick both turn and look. "Really?" 

Nick spits the gum out into his own hand and Shane crows with victory around his.

"He's been weird since we left Seattle." Nick says, "Like something happened. I dunno. But he's been acting jumpy."

James frowns and glares at José from across the room.

"He keeps staring at me." James says.

"C'mon McCann… why would anyone torture themselves like that?"

"Shut up, Nick."

Nick laughs anyways and messes James's hair up. James shoves him off and decides maybe he should go talk to José. Not that he can prove anything and by the time he makes his way over there, José is chatting in rapid Spanish with Leonys and Victor. He's leaning against his locker, telling some kind of story, that's making the other two laugh.

José meets his gaze though and his smile fades for a moment.

He does understand _"un momento"_ that José says as he ducks away from the two.

"What up, McCannon?" José acts like nothing is different. James knows that nothing is different, but it still leaves him feeling unsettled.

"Nothing, just… stop."

José's expression of innocence does nothing to make James feel better.

"I not doing anything."

"You _know_ what you're doing." James says, the words feel weightier than they should, and though he doesn't raise his hand, he wants to. José doesn't flinch but James wishes he would. At least give some sort of indicator that he'd learned anything.

José just smiles.

"Sure thing." José says and he turns back around to the others.

That itch between his shoulder blades bothers him even more, but he's trying not to think about it. He can't let José distract him.

***  
James is a few feet off of second base, looking at José in the batters box. It's their last chance, now-- top of the ninth and down by a couple of runs, only having one more out before the game is over. José swings at a ball in the dirt, right over it, for the final out of the game and James frowns, watching as the home team celebrates to an excited crowd.

James knows they've all done it, they've all misjudged a way a ball is coming out of someone's hand-- gotten caught looking, caught fishing-- whatever else. But it feels like a personal offense, like he was staring James down across the diamond and daring him to do something.

(In saner, less jumbled up parts of himself, in the more controlled part of his mind that isn't like Pandora's box been opened-- he knows this is a stupid thing to think, or feel, but he dismisses it all.)

And he bites the inside of his mouth when they're in the locker room, even though he wants to start a fight. He can taste copper on the inside of his mouth and everything is sharp, metallic-- like blood and like his anger.

James thinks maybe José hasn't really learned anything at all. So he watches José as they get changed, lick their wounds in the visitor's locker room after a rough loss. If José notices he's looking, he doesn't show any signs of it.

He's startled when someone puts their hands on his shoulders.

"We're goin' out, wanna come?" Hicks's voice drawls the words out and James tips his head back to look at him, then looks back over at José.

"Why not." James says. Maybe he can-- he thinks maybe he can ease his anger off and try and look at this more reasonably. He finishes changing and he snags an Uber, where he's crushed in the backseat with Jiménez and Boyd. Boyd's leaning across James to show pictures of his daughter and his dog to Joe.

James feels closed in and uncomfortable, like someone's caged him in, and he wants to claw out of the backseat. The bar is understated and the floors are kind of sticky, he can hear his shoes getting stuck on the floor.

He sees a bunch of the team there. Some of the older guys aren't-- Leonys and Victor and Miggy, but they are definitely a crowd. He sees José is there too and gets mad all over again. He crowds him against the inside of the booth though, even though he can't do much except for that.

He puts a hand on his knee and squeezes.

"Shouldn't you be watching film?" James asks José. José gives him a look through his lashes, eyes a little lidded, and his mouth quirks into a smile.

"I get a drink. Is not some bad thing. Good for team bonding."

"You'd be better for your team if you stopped fucking up." James says, unkindly.

José's expression doesn't change.

"You be better for me if you shut up." José replies cheerfully. He tries to push James's hand off of his knee, but James just squeezes harder, he can almost feel the bones grinding.

José's smile almost wavers, but he turns to his drink and gets pulled into a conversation about the Dolphins with Nick and James tries to field a conversation when all he's thinking about is José next to him and in need of an attitude adjustment.

He strokes his thumb over José's knee.

"Move, move this my song." José shoves at James but does little to move him. James's mood sours as he scoots over.

"You're going to dance?"

"Yes. You wanna come? I teach you how." James frowns at him more and watches as José slips away from the booth. But no one cares what they do. Everyone just wants to forget about the game. So James follows José to the dance floor.

He doesn't really think anything will come of it, it's just that he doesn't want him to have too much fun. Or maybe he thinks he'll be able to corral him faster, to get him out of this club and back to the hotel so they can actually talk about what James wants to talk about.

But José notices him and he puts his slim hands on James's hips and laughs as he pulls him in.

"Stop it." James is irritated, he could shake José off, but he doesn't. "Someone could notice."

"No one watching, McCannon. Especially not you. You invisible."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

José laughs and brings James even closer in to Him, until they're chest to chest.

"You wanna learn to dance?"

"No."

José laughs again and he slides his arms around James's waist. Like they're not in the middle of a bar, like they're not-- like he doesn't--

James doesn't push José away, though.

He should, every second that ticks by, he knows he should-- but he doesn't know if he can. He forces himself to, putting his hands on José's shoulders and pushing him back, catching him before he stumbles still.

"I don't wanna dance with you." James bites out. "You shouldn't even be out here."

José frowns at him and then turns away, to go on with his dancing, to whatever song is piping out on the loudspeakers. James grabs José, he doesn't turn him around, but he snags him by his belt loops and drags him back.

"You're not allowed to have fun." James says, his voice almost right against his ear. "You ain't deserve it. You should be _home_."

José shakes against him and it takes a moment for James to realize that José is laughing. He hooks his fingers tighter in his belt loops and drags him off to the bathroom. It's empty and quieter in there, and James leans against the door to prevent anyone from coming in after them.

"I was busy." José says, looking testy for the first time that night.

James shoves José back against the counter, one hand pressing into his chest.

Anyone could come in, but José is clearly getting out of line. James slides his hand up until his fingers are pressing against the swell of José's adam's apple.

"You weren't busy, you were fucking around."

"Stop bothering me." José snaps at him. He struggles against James's grip, even though James can feel his breaths getting shallower. Maybe he's pressing too hard. Maybe it's something else. José's eyes are dark, shining in the fluorescent lights.

James thinks about the night sky, camping in Arkansas, no light from anywhere.

He tries to banish the thought as quickly as it comes. He tightens his fingers a little and presses in a little closer, until he's crowded José against the marble countertop.

"You don't want me stop. And I'm not bothering you. I'm _helping_ you." James explains this patiently, like José is dumb. "Avila said he's gonna keep you here, and you shouldn't be here, but if you're gonna be… well."

José's face darkens.

"S'none of your business." José struggles against James, reaching up to grab at his wrist.

"It is my business," James says, "It's my business because you play like you don't want to be here. What were you even swinging at up there? You could have walked, _something_."

José's face twists into a sneer.

"You got on base from the pitcher hitting you. You put up an oh-for." José waves a hand a little at James. "At least I got something, early, got us even in it. You don't do nothing. Then you take it out on me."

"You need to learn how to shut your mouth." James growls out at him. Then, so José can't talk anymore, James presses in and kisses José. It's sharp and biting, his teeth digging into the soft skin of his lower lip. José's hands wind up pressing against his shoulders, then curling into the fabric of James's shirt. He's not quite pushing him away.

He's not quite-- he's not making him stop. It doesn't feel like permission, but James takes it anyways. He doesn't like kissing José. His lips are too chapped and his stubble scrapes against James's skin. He kisses back too aggressively, too sharply. He tastes like liquor and bubblegum. José's nails dig into James's shoulders and he finally pulls back.

James's eyes narrow at José. José looks-- well, he looks annoying, that's what he looks like. All dark eyes and red-slashed cheeks, and his lips look too pink and swollen, and if it wasn't José it might be _appealling_ ,

"Turn around." James demands and José does it without hesitation. James knows it means something-- something bad-- that José doesn't really fight, when James bosses him around. That all the resistance he puts up seems to be almost token. James looks at the curve of José's spine and while he's -- admiring-- José tries to duck away.

James has to snag him by the back of his shirt and he shoves him against the door. He hears his forehead hit and José doesn't quite yell, but the sounds is loud enough it bounces off the tiled walls in the bathroom. James pushes José down to his knees.

"You just don't fucking learn." James says. "And you need to."

"You can't do nothing. I scream." José says, and James doesn't doubt that he will. James's fingertips itch with the desire to put him in his place, and he has a flash of how good it'd look if he struck José, if he could see the imprint of his fingers on José's cheek.

James has to admit defeat, this time. If only because it's too risky. James isn't stupid-- well, he's acting stupid but he's not, in general.

"This isn't over." James hisses at José.

He could swear that José almost smiles. So James _has_ to retaliate. It'd be remiss if he didn't.

He grabs José back to his feet and keeps him cuffed at the back of the neck and drags him out of the bathroom, back to the table, where Nick and Jeimer are chatting up a pretty, buxom blonde-- so James isn't going to interrupt them. He just orders a car and pushes José to the street.

"I was having fun." José pouts at him.

James shakes his head and pushes him against the brick building of the club.

He feels all jumbled up inside, like someone's taking his guts and tying them in knots, leaving them in the wrong place so he's alive still but feeling all wrong and out of place.

José ducks away once they get back to the hotel, and it burns in James's throat, but he can't go an hunt him down now.

James stares at the ceiling, trying to figure out what he's feeling.

***  
There's no calm before the storm. The rest of the road trip passes without incident, but James is still fuming, secretly and quietly. It's under his skin and he can't quite get it out. It feels like it's infecting him, eating through all of his carefully constructed control, like acid. Burning everything inside of him and stoking up an anger that he wants to believe is righteous fury.

He's in the right.

James _knows_ he is.

There's part of him where he thinks that he shouldn't give José the satisfaction of making him mad, but it's not something he can do. There's a line that's been crossed, that now that José has broken through it seems impossible to not let him get it.

It doesn't seem right, but he can't stop it either.

It's taking up valuable space in his mind, setting up shop like it belongs there, even though he knows it doesn't belong there. It's infuriating, settling there like a constant mantra of his name and his smirk and his dark glittering eyes.

James can't shake it.

He knows there's a word for it, he can feel it taking shape on the tip of his tongue. He feels like he needs to shake it off. Maybe more batting practice. Maybe more taking grounders. Something to take his mind off of it. But at the end of the day, he's not the one who keeps messing up.

He gets to the ballpark early anyways, maybe to use one of the film rooms, to use something to take his mind off of everything else.

It's empty except for the general staff, there's people setting up, and Bosio is there already, tucked in his office going through papers. He wonders if he should step in there, take his mind off of everything by focusing on something else.

He decides not to bother him and slips into the locker room and thinks about what he's going to do to take up the time between now and when everything is going to start. He feels like a caged animal, agitated and worked up, but unable to truly find a way to calm himself down.

He could pace back and forth between the bars, but it wouldn't get him free.

James doesn't know how to break free.

He decides the batting cages aren't the best bet, and he slips on headphones and leans against his locker, closing his eyes and trying to let the music finally drown out everything else in his head. It works for approximately ten minutes before there's a presence looming over him and he flickers his eyes open and-- there's José.

Everything floods back.

James snatches his headphones off and glares balefully at him.

"What are you doing here?"

"You tell me I need to work harder. Now you mad I come early?" José smirks down at him and James can just feel him digging in. Like a splinter in his palm, digging in further and further, scratching him open from the inside out.

"You should be working harder. Don't see how you bothering me in the clubhouse is accomplishing that."

James stands and José looks up at him, brow furrowing a little and he shoves his palms against James's chest.

"What your problem? You been riding my ass since I don't know. But I no do anything to you. "

James grabs onto José's biceps and digs his fingertips into his skin, until he can see the way that José starts to grimace.

"You can rough me up all you want. But you gotta problem with me. Just say it. Just get it over with. I sick of this, man."

"I'm sick of you and you _know_ what "my problem" is." James makes the air quotes around it and José shoves him back again. James's head hits the wood of the locker and starbursts explode in his vision.

"You think you know everything. You know nothing. You not my boss. It's not your business. You ain't got the right to tell me how to do _my job_. Focus on you. You got enough worrying with that."

José shoves him again for good measure.

James hasn't moved his hands from José's arms. They stay there for a moment, just staring. José's nostrils are flared and James can hear him breathing. And James himself can feel the anger so strongly it feels like he can taste it.

Before he really knows what's happening, José has surged forward and fitted their mouths together. It happens so fast. James nearly topples down into his locker, José half on top of him, squeezed into the shelving.

José's teeth cut his lower lip. It's violent. José kisses him with teeth and tongue and his nails digging into the skin of James's chest. It's nearly painful.

James can feel it crack him open like an egg.

"Come on," José says, his voice rough like gravel, his fingernails sharp like a razor. "You wanna do something dumb. Do it."

James can't catch his breath.

"Someone is gonna see." James protests, words, his hand is already at the front of José's jeans.

"You don't care."

"I do." James grinds the words out. "you're being irresponsible. That's your problem."

José's cock is heavy in his hand, already flushed, the tip of it sticky with precome.

"You worse." José retorts as James slides his hand up and down José's shaft, and José leans forward, his head sagging against James's shoulder. His hips jerk a little. "Feel good."

James turns his head and presses his mouth to José's temple, stroking him a little faster.

"You're not supposed to be enjoying this."

"You should fuck me again."

James stops, he doesn't know why it shocks him, but it does. His thumb idly traces over the head of José's cock and he glares at José.

"You want to. Back in Seattle. In the club. Is what you wanted."

José rolls his hips down.

"We back home. You take me to your place. Can do whatever you want to me. I be as loud as you want."

"I don't want that." James says, but the thought of it makes him feel so hot everywhere. He can't comprehend the desire he feels. It feels like he's standing in front of a blast furnace. James clutches at José's hip. Looks at the way José's biting his own lower lip swollen, and the redness on his cheeks, and the way his eyes burn like coals. He needs.

James suddenly realizes he needs this more than anything else in his life.

It scares him.

"You do." José says, reaching down and grabbing onto James's wrist. Urging him on. His hand feels like a firebrand.

James squeezes his hand around José's cock, stroking him more firmly, a little faster, to watch the way José's lips part, the way he pants, the way his chest heaves with shuddering breaths.

José has to be his.

"Okay." James says and he draws his hand away, heart hammering in his chest. "Okay, after the game. After…"

He wishes he could take him down now. He wants--

"Fuck, please, don't…" José whines a little and he reaches down to wrap his fingers around James's wrist again. "Don't stop. I need…"

José trails off, cheeks going deeper red.

"What do you need?" James asks. It feels gentler than he means it to be, something tinged almost on the edge of concern. He's _not_ concerned. He tells himself it's because he's the captain of the team still, and even when José is a fuck-up, he has to have at least some kindness.

José looks embarrassed, his gaze cutting away, the flush on his cheeks darkening.

"I need…" José trails off and looks like he's struggling to say what he wants to. What he means. It's silent for a few moments, just the hum of the Park behind the walls.

The pounding of his heart.

He feels like he can imagine the sound of José's too.

"You." José finally finishes, the word so soft it's almost swallowed up. James wraps his fingers back around José and sets a steady, quick rhythm. He doesn't know how much longer they'll be alone and he doesn't want to risk getting caught.

(Still, there's a thrill in that too, some stupid dangerous feeling, like maybe getting caught will finally help him quell whatever this overwhelming urge is too.)

José clings to him, fingertips digging bruises into his forearms, and he comes with a muffled cry, tucking his face against James's throat. It makes a mess all over James's shirt and his hands, but he doesn't mind. He just tucks José back away and gets up to clean himself up.

He feels weird about it for the rest of the day.

***

The game isn't quite a good one. But they scrape by with a win and there's nothing particularly irritating about it. It's mostly James is worried about the aftermath. His body hums with it, as soon as the adrenaline from the game dies down, it is overtaken. It's almost like anxiety except not _quite_.

He thinks maybe he won't do it. He knows he shouldn't. James can feel that that's the best idea, to not let José get more under his skin. But he catches his gaze from across the locker room. He watches José, still wet from his shower, streaks of water on his face, as he laughs about something a reporter has said to him.

James watches José in a moment unspoiled by their own personal feelings for one another. José's got a soft smile, and a soft voice, and he has this easiness about him that puts James off. Like there's two halves of him, and James sees the bad half.

(The shadowed half; and James blots out the sun.)

So he waits around for him, grabs him by the elbow, and if he didn't know better, he might think that José looks pleased. James is sure he just imagines that though. They drive in James's truck in relative silence. When he glances over, José is doing something on his phone.

From the flash James can see, it looks like one of those match-three games, all bright colored with painted on smiles. It's ridiculous, but somehow it suits José. He doesn't want to think about why. They pull up to James's house and he wipes his sweaty palms on his thighs and wonders how it looks inside.

Is it messy? Does it lack that feel of home?

It shouldn't matter what José thinks. He should just take him straight to the bedroom without deviation. He should put him in his place, just like he's been intending on doing. He thinks of José's whispered words, about what he thinks James wants.

(What James wants, but he won't admit to, where he'll remain flippant and vague about it.)

It's dark when they get inside and James flips on the lights as he leads him towards the stairs. But José hangs back at the bottom of the steps and James frowns at him, brow furrowing, wondering if José lost his never.

"You not even gonna offer me a drink?" José asks.

"I didn't invite you here to be your friend." James's voice is low, and he watches as José's face seemingly goes through a range of emotions. But he starts taking the stairs, following James up into the bedroom. There's clothes tossed around and it's clear he hasn't unpacked from the roadtrip, the sheets still messed up from the night before.

James pushes José back until he falls into the bed.

José to his credit kicks his shoes off and climbs up the bed, giving James more room to crawl in alongside him. Something thrills down James's spine. He climbs into bed with him, and quickly covers José with his body. He smells like soap and feels warm underneath James's fingertips, where he slides them up under José's shirt.

James can't stop stroking his fingers over José's stomach and he presses their mouths together, kissing him slow. José brings his arms up, wraps them around James, and for a moment it feels almost peaceful. James's heart batters against his ribs like a wild animal trying to break free from a cage. And the moment is gone because James's self recoils from it, and he sits back, pinning José down with one big hand in the center of his chest.

José settles under his hand like he's being tamed, his lashes flutter over his cheekbones, and there's a faint pink staining over them. His breathing is already shallowing, like he knows what's coming. James doesn't know how he feels-- how he should feel-- with the lack of resistance. He thinks about what José had said before.

That he'd let James do anything he wanted to him.

James wonders if it's true.

James wonders if he can test this theory adequately. So he takes the time to sit back and appraise José.

"Get naked." James commands. José doesn't hesitate. He peels his t-shirt off and wiggles out of his socks and jeans and boxers. He's already starting to get hard, his cock twitching against his lean thighs. He notices the lack of hesitation and James's throat goes dry.

James wonders if he could ask him to do something ridiculous, but he doesn't want to involve anyone or anything else. James swallows around a lump in his throat and moves forward a little.

James runs his hands over José's thighs. He feels the toned, corded muscle, and how powerful his legs are, before sliding his hands up over his hips and squeezing there.

There's still a faint bruise from the last time and he traces over it with his fingertips. José's breathing gets a little heavier and his eyes lid more, but he still doesn't make a move to protest.

James slides his hands back down, over thighs and knees and muscled calves, before finally circling a hand around José's slim ankle. He lifts it up and bends José's leg, still focused on his face.

James clears his throat.

"You're very pliant." James says. José nods.

James doesn't think he'll stay that way, as he pushes the issue and he strokes his fingers over José's insole. Then he goes for it and he scrapes his nails lightly over the sole of José's feet.

José's leg spasms as he tries to jerk his leg away, a soft huff of laughter escapes, almost frustrated sounding.

"I'm ticklish." José pouts at him, but he doesn't try and get his leg back besides the involuntary flinch.

James doesn't waste time after that. It's clear that he's going to have to up the stakes to see. James doesn't hold back. He keeps a tight grip as he starts tickling José's feet, first.

It's mostly without real intent, the way José reacts, trying to jerk his foot away. But José's head lolls back as he laughs, clutching at the sheets underneath them and James tickles him.

With all his clothes off, it easy to see the flush that raises on José's skin. José doesn't fight, but the laughter bounces off the walls as James moves from his feet to the backs of his thighs, and over his ribs.

José's squirming, preventing himself from trying to get away, and there's tears gathering across his lashes, as he's laughing so hard he's breathing deeply, shuddering and quick intakes of breath like he's drowning.

He's impossibly red, like he's almost going to start glowing like a coal, and James's fingers catch at his ribs, against overly warm skin.

José moves under him, but he doesn't try and get away, even as the tears roll down his cheeks and he thrashes, his fingers clutched in the sheets, until his grip is white knuckled. It's only when James moves, to go back to tickling José's feet that he notices.

James rings his fingers back around José's ankle, but now he's distracted. James sits a little straighter, looking at the way José's breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, the fact that he's all red, and that his cock is stirring, twitching where it lays against his abdomen. James chews on his lower lip and keeps his gaze as subtle as he can as his fingers start dancing over the soles of José's feet again.

James watches, but it's undeniable. José is turned on by this. James draws in a sharp breath. He wonders which part of it is making José feel like that. Is it his hands on him? The act? The feeling of loss of control?

He wonders if that's what José likes about him-- about this. José doesn't like _him_ , he's sure. Just like James doesn't like José.

James lets go of José's foot and settles in between his legs. José's still wracked with little aftershocks of laughter, smiling so brightly that his eyes are crinkling at the corners, and his smile stretches miles wide and makes James want to chase it to the ends of the Earth.

He banishes the thought with a shake of his head.

"Get on your stomach." James commands.

(He doesn't know if he can look at him.)

José doesn't fight, he rolls over, until he's settled in the bed and James watches the way his hips hitch, like he's trying to bring himself off using the cotton of the sheets. James grabs him by the hair, takes a fistful of it, where it's longer on top and jerks his head back.

"Don't even fucking think about." James says.

He forces himself to stop feeling so-- he isn't sure what it is, but it's too kind, it has no place here, so he seeks to regain the control he feels slipping through his fingers like water. He grasps at it like maybe he can catch it. James-- James hasn't been in control since the beginning.

He has to find some kind of footing. He keeps his fingers in José's hair. He sees the flush has only grown, and the tips of José's ears are pink now. James moves a little closer, until he's straddling the backs of José's thighs. He thinks what it might be like if this was something else. What José's skin might taste like, if he kissed along his shoulder blades, traced a pattern like a connect-the-dots of the freckles sprinkled over his back.

James thinks about what it might be like-- kissing him under the summer sun. He squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth and tugs at José's hair some more.

He wants. James just _wants_ and he can almost feel it choking him. So he slides his hand over José's throat and makes him feel it instead, a little too tight, he can feel the way José's breathing hitches. José lowers his head and James's eyes trace over the curve of his neck and the line of his spine, he traces along it with the fingers of his other hand.

James feels José shiver and thinks he can't tease anymore. If he does, he might say-- or do-- something stupid. Something he couldn't take back. Something he couldn't explain away.

He banishes his own confusing thoughts by shoving José's face into the pillow and grabbing at his hips to pull him on his knees. James doesn't waste his time after that.

His movements are perfunctory, he slathers cold lube onto his fingers and presses two of them inside of José without giving him much time to adjust. José doesn't fight, just breathes out in heavy, harsh breaths and murmurs a little. James thinks he might like it.

He shoves his own pants down and pushes into José. He should take it slower, be more careful, but he feels like a ball of desire that's superheating. José doesn't fight that either, just hitches his hips back, grinds against James's cock and lets out a sound that's like a warble.

James finally unthreads his fingers from José's hair and grabs hold of José's hips, snapping his own forward. José cries out, sharp and high and tight.

James doesn't stop. He needs to wring that sound out of José again and again. José sounds like a wounded animal, like he's in pain, and James clings on to that sensation like it's the only thing in the world. He digs his nails into his skin, leaving little crescent moon indentations.  
James is panting like he's running a marathon and he drops a little, pressing his forehead against the bend of José's back as he fucks him deeper, until the bed is rattling the pictures on the wall.

José's words are a babble, James can't focus enough to hear anything but his own name. It's just as well, some of the words sound almost sweet and kind and he flicks them away as best he can.

James mouths at the ridge of José's spine and leaves a wet swipe of his tongue. He closes his eyes to the expanse of José's skin and squeezes on his hips tighter, until he can feel the jut of bone, and hear José's hiss of pain over everything else.

"More, more," Jose urges with deep and shuddering breaths. James slides his hand back around to grab at José's throat, he feels him swallow against his palm and then jerk forward.

James rolls his hips into José and then reaches down, wrapping his fingers around his cock. James starts stroking him, trying to match the rhythm of the thrust of his hips, but he can't concentrate enough.

It's somehow over too soon and not fast enough as José spills hotly all over his hands and James fucks him through his orgasm, listening to the little keening sounds José makes in the back of his throat.

José slumps boneless to the bed and James lays on top of him. For a moment -- it's almost blissful, like lining up the perfect shot and bagging a ten-pointer.

The real world slips in and everything feels like chaos. He jerks away from José and throws his clothes at him.

"Get out." James snaps.

He expects José to protest.

James doesn't know why he feels hurt when José doesn't.

***

James drops his duffel bag in front of his locker and he sees José talking to Miggy and Nick, he watches him smile and laugh, like he's still not bothered. James isn't sure why he wants that smile turned on him, but it makes him angrier and he throws stuff in his locker irritably. It causes enough noise that Nick yells out a greeting to him.

James waves back and he goes back to ignoring them, until he feels someone at his elbow.

Of course it's José.

"What?" James snaps at him. José slides his arms around him, clinging on to his back, while Miggy and Nick laugh-- but probably about something else. James can't help but feel hot all over. He grabs José's wrist and jerks it away from him.

José gives him a wounded look and rubs his wrist with his other hand.

"Don't you have batting practice to take?"

José frowns at him.

"I wonder if you wanna get lunch." José says. James laughs in his face.

"Get the fuck away from me."

José's lower lip juts out and James turns away from him.

"Come on McCannon."

"Don't call me that, and don't make me tell you again."

James doesn't know when Miggy and Nick left, but he's suddenly aware they're alone. José slips his arms back around James's waist. James tries to center himself, tries to find some kind of solid ground, because he's plummeting in a free fall. He tries to chase after the better of the emotions he feels, something where he wants to lean into José's hug, wants to go out to lunch with him, wants to share a plate of french fries and tease him, and sneakily hold his hand under the table when they're on the same side of the booth.

He recoils against the thought though, his own brain railing against the thought of something so-- so--

No word comes to mind. He grabs José's wrist again and shoves him back against the locker.

"What did I say?" James asks him and he pins José up against the wood there, his thumbs digging into José's collar bone. He watches as he winces, the light in his eyes flaring up, and he sees José grab at the wood paneling behind him.

José looks up at him, his lips parted a little, the pink staining across his cheeks. James watches as his chest heaves, like he's run a marathon, like he can't catch his breath. He has to stop letting José do this, they can't keep pushing things in the clubhouse, where anyone could see.

"Just leave me alone." James says and shoves José again, for good measure, he hears the soft pained noise that José makes and he tamps down the reaction he has to it, storms back over to his own locker and grabs his batting gloves.

He might as well get this feeling out somehow.

He can feel José watching him as he leaves the room and he shoves past Alex and Shane.

"Looks like Mac's on the warpath again, stay clear!" He hears Greeney announce to the locker room. Just José.

James digs his nails into his palm until it hurts and tries to regain his focus.

***

James accidentally leaves marks sometimes, in the aftermath, purple bruises show on tawny skin. He notices them when they're in the clubhouse, imagines them under the crisp white of his jersey, sees them when he closes his eyes. James can't get José out of his mind, out of his blood.

He's like a splinter in him, tucked under his skin, painful and unreachable, and he scratches at it until it's rubbed raw and red, knowing the only way to really relieve it is to pull it out with force-- but unwilling to do it. He pokes at it and seethes at the pain, but he likes it too.

James knows it's not really complicated, it shouldn't be.

When they're together, it's easy for James to get riled up and mad, to push away any good will he feels. He holds José down and bruises him up, and digs his fingertips into places he knows ache. Until José's smile fades and his eyes water, and he --

James can't help himself. He wants to see José -- he wants to use him.

And, God forgive him, James knows he wants to hurt him. A split right down his middle, of where he wants to nurture, and this unchained thing in him that only reacts violently, pushing José away -- emotionally, but unable to allow José to distance from him.

James isn't sure when it got like this. But he doesn't know when the last time he spent a night apart is now. José takes everything that James gives him, even the cold shoulder, even when he keeps him from getting closer to him.

So James is understandably surprised when José doesn't find him after the game. James usually keeps an eye on him, waiting for it, but he watches José dress -- nicer than normal-- watches as he styles his hair and uses cologne-- much to the chagrin of Leonys who busts on him, good natured.

James can tell just from the way they chat, he doesn't really understand most of the words, except Leonys saying something about a prostitute.

James follows José out of the clubhouse.

"Hey." James grabs José by the shoulder, digging his fingers in. José turns and tips his head to the side at James.

"Yes?"

"What're you up to?" James tries and fails to put his tone somewhere at casual indifference. José carefully dislodges James's hand.

"I got plans."

"I thought--" James starts, but stops abruptly, as José's brows raise.

"What you think, Mac?" José asks and he leans in, almost in James's face. "I know you're not as dumb as you look."

James bristles.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Exactly what you think it does." José says. "Night, Mac."

James grabs at him again and José turns again, eyes narrowing, nostrils flaring. José looks like he's ready to fight. Like he's not going to let James do what he wants. Like he's not--

"What do you mean you have plans?" James asks instead. José squints at him a little, his mouth pressing into a line.

"Mean you gotta find someone else to push around, _acere_ ," José says flippantly, "I gonna go meet my friend."

James grabs José again.

"What if I don't let you go?"

José laughs, a bark of it, it sounds _mean_.

"You cute when you think you got a choice. If you don't let me go, you gonna lose that hand."

James doesn't think José means it, but he draws back anyways and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He feels-- odd. He feels lost.

"Are you still gonna come over?" James asks. (He hates how his voice sounds.)

José turns and tosses a wave to James over his shoulder.

"Depends on how my date goes."

James digs his nails into his thighs until it hurts, until his fingers ache. It takes all of his willpower to not follow José.

***

James feels like he's clawing his way up to the surface of the water, tossed by waves that keep threatening to drag him under. He had been in a somewhat deep sleep, but now he's awake, and trying to get his bearings, thinking of what woke him up. He feels something against his back and he frowns a little. But the smell is familiar, the feel is familiar, even though the cologne is undercut with smoke and alcohol and someone else's scent.

James turns as carefully as he can to face José. He looks washed out in the moonlight, but still peaceful. James feels his chest clench with some emotion he can't quite put a finger on. There's a fresh mark on José's body and he knows he didn't leave it there.

Low enough on his shoulder it won't be noticeable in his uniform, but he sees it-- angry red, the indent of teeth. James fights against the uncomfortable feeling he has, of José having been with someone else. Of someone daring to mess up his skin, and an anger rolls through him like a tidal wave.

James pushes José onto his back, watches his eyes flutter open. Watches some strange, soft smile spread across José's face that hits James like a slug to the gut. He doesn't know what it means, but he watches it fade away, as José wakes up a little more, as James looms over him.

"What?" José asks, he still sounds half asleep and James doesn't know what. He doesn't know anything because he feels like he's been sucker punched. It feels like so much, like too much, like he's seeing something that he doesn't want to see.

"Did they hurt you?" James asks and he balances on one hand, his fingers skirting over the bruise almost gently. He watches José's face, watches confusion, and then José frowns.

José reaches up like he's going to cover up the hickey and James smacks his hand away. José's eyes narrow and he squirms a little, away from James.

"I shouldn't have come." José says.

James lets José sit up, he sits at the edge of the bed and James frowns a little, kneeling there in the warm space that José's left. He feels-- he feels like this is another moment, that if he says something, or doesn't say something-- that he might not be able to fix this, whatever this is. Whatever is going on.

James doesn't think his mind has been right since he and José started this.

But -- it's still that anger, it dances like a knifepoint over his nerve endings. He wonders if he'll ever feel okay again, if his heart will ever stop aching like this.

"Maybe you shouldn't have." James says. He feels the words like bile in the back of his throat, watching as José leans over and starts putting his shoes back on. He grits his teeth again, grinds them together, and wonders what will spill out, if he opens his mouth.

It's too terrifying to contemplate, he doesn't want to say _too much_.

James runs his hands through his hair and then slides a little closer to José.

"Wait." James says. José's movement doesn't stop. "I mean, José, come on, fucking stop." James grabs him by the biceps and José sits back up and looks over his shoulder at James.

"You say I shouldn't come. So I go."

_But I don't want you to._

"I…" James starts and grinds his teeth together even more and grips at José's biceps even harder. He doesn't want him to go and he doesn't know how to say that. He doesn't know how to voice what he wants. "Come on, José I ain't good at this."

James is trying-- he doesn't know what he's trying for, but.

"Ain't good at what?" José asks, mimicking James's accent and word choice. It's mocking, it's-- James wants to hit him. He digs his fingers in so hard he's sure he's going to leave bruises on him again.

He doesn't care-- he does care. He just wants.

"At _this_. Me and you."

"There's not me and you." José says blandly. "I nothing to you. You nothing to me. Just fun."

James knows he's right, but…

It stings.

His fingers move back to the hickey.

"He ain't no good for you if he hurts you."

José laughs, bitterly, and he shakes his head.

" _Dale._ " José sounds exasperated. "You wanna lecture me? You wanna say that to me? What about _you_?"

José stands up, hands on his hips, and he looks down at James.

"You worse than any of them. Anyone else. Worst in the world." José says. "You think you better than anyone?"

James doesn't move, still looking at José, wishing this was rewound, so he had a chance to say something else.

James shakes his head.

  
"I'm not." He protests and José squints at him.

"You think you not? With all you put me through?"

James prickles, and the fear gives way to being angry again and he grabs José by his belt loops, drags him back in, they crash into the bed together, José haphazardly on top of him. José struggles on top of him, but they only wrestle for a little bit, before James is able to get the upper hand and he pins José's arms above his head.

"You just prove my point." José hisses out at him. James puts his mouth over the hickey that José already has, and digs his teeth in until José whimpers. But José's hands slip into his hair, nails digging into his scalp.

"You don't want me to stop." James says. "If you wanted me to, you'd stop me."

"I thought-- I couldn't." José says, his voice a little shaky now, his breathing stuttering.

"Yeah if you really wanted me to get off of you, you'd make me. You always tell me you're stronger than you look. Prove it."

José bares his teeth, hisses in a breath through them and José glares, his hands fisting into the sheets. James's heart is hammering in his chest, he feels like he's done something dangerous. José squirms under him a little, then goes pliant. James watches him.

"You ain't gonna prove it?" James says, nearly mockingly. José looks up at him, a little lost looking for a moment, like he's trying to think of _something_.

José looks at James like he looks at a pitcher on the mound, like he's trying to read his mind, find the speed and location and it makes James feel itchy all over. It makes him want to run, or hide, or something.

"Let me up." José says, his voice sounds weird though.

"Make me."

"James." José's voice sounds like a plea and it's enough -- sincere enough-- that it gives James some pause. But he doesn't move his hands. He keeps José underneath him. He doesn't know what he's trying to prove. He doesn't know what either one of them are doing.

"José." James says back and he strokes José's hair away from his forehead.

"I can't do this anymore." José says quietly. "You no good for me. You-- you and I can't do this anymore."

James frowns a little and he draws back a little. He lets José go. He doesn't really have a choice.

"What do you mean?" James asks. José sits up and he leans in, presses a kiss to the corner of James's mouth.

" _Lo siento._ "

James feels like he's about to go crazy, he can feel something spiraling out of control, and he clutches at the sheets to keep from reaching out to José again. He lets him finish getting his shoes on.

He listens to him as he goes downstairs.

James waits for the front door to open, to close and then the emptiness of the house to return.

James frowns when he doesn't hear it and he slides out of bed. The clock says it's after four AM now and he rubs fuzziness from his eyes and heads downstairs. José's sitting on James's couch, his head down, looking like maybe he's praying or something.

James clicks on the side lamp.

"What're you doing?" James asks.

Everything feels weird tonight. Is he still dreaming? Maybe this is all a bad dream. But José looks at him and he looks like he's been crying. James frowns a little and joins him on the couch, loops an arm around him, and they sit on the couch quietly like that for what feels like a long time. José pillowing his head on James's chest.

James doesn't have words to say, this all feels like strange, unnavigable territory. He wants José to say something. To do something. He doesn't know what he wants but it's not _this_. He never wanted--

Well, it's not fair to say he doesn't want José to cry because he _does_. He's just… unsure.

"I should go." José sniffles into James's chest.

"You can stay, if you want." James says. José shudders against him and leans more into James.

"I can't."

"Why?"

"You know why."

James does.

"I ain't no good for you." James says, echoing his complaint about whomever José had been with earlier in the evening. José nods.

"Okay." James says. He uses his thumb to brush the tears from underneath José's eyes and then presses a soft kiss to his forehead.

This feels more final than any fight they've had.

It's probably a good thing the season is ending soon-- and they can put all this behind them.

There's light streaming through the cracks in the blinds when José finally leaves.

***  
California gets boring. James lists around his parents house after an unimpressive end of the season, and tries to think of what he might do. It's different since he's not seeing anyone anymore. He used to spend the offseason in Kentucky with his fiance and her family, but now it just seems kind of like the whole winter is going to stretch on with nothing to do.

His mom is urging him to get back into dating, but he can't stop thinking about José.

James knows it's stupid, with everything that happened, at the end of the season. They didn't really speak outside of the game after that night. James had watched as José's skin had cleared up of all the marks he'd left, until James could only see them in his mind.

James doesn't really plan on leaving California, until he gets a silver printed letter in the mail, inviting him to a wedding, and he doesn't really know if it's super smart for Nick to re-marry, but it gives him something to do, so he RSVPs and heads down to Miami.

Just because Nick's his friend.

That's all.

James gets down there a day early and checks into a hotel, ready to just be doing _something else_. Shane texts him that the bachelor party was cancelled because "nick's whipped". James doesn't ask, he probably wasn't going to go anyways.

But it means he does wind up just going out to dinner with Nick and other people in the wedding party-- some of Jess's family and Nick's brother is there. It's nice catching up too, with friends they'd lost along the way-- J.D and Avila.

And -- José is there. Somehow, James is surprised to see him. He doesn't remember if he was at Nick and Vanessa's wedding. He watches José climb up onto J.D.'s back, and laugh with him, clowning around like he doesn't have a care in the world.

And James-- he wonders. He wonders if José ever thinks about them. About what they weren't. About what they almost were.

The dinner winds down, Nick ducks out early, most of the wedding party does-- and James thinks he should go too, but he gets tugged along for a bar trip with Avila and J.D. and José, who apparently want to relive old memories and good times with the Tigers, even though James never really ran in their circles.

It's pleasant. In the way that catching up with old friends is pleasant. J.D. is affable and Avila is exactly how James remembers him, and for a moment it almost feels like this is the year before, and everything isn't so jumbled up and messy.

"Don't you guys need to sleep for Nick's wedding?" José asks-- mostly at J.D., who James was sure Nick did mention was going to be one of the groomsmen.

"This is the city that never sleeps." J.D. says.

"I'm pretty sure that's Vegas."

"Really?" J.D. looks to James.

"It's New York." James corrects them. Avila shrugs.

"Well, wherever it is." J.D. says. James feels a bit like a third-- fourth? wheel when their conversation clicks over to Spanish, where he can only catch a few words, but it's alright. He'll be going soon anyways. James tries to go, throwing some money on the table, but José catches him by the wrist and keeps him there.

James doesn't know why.

After a while, J.D. suggests they move their party to the hotel room, but Avila cites needing to get to sleep, and James thinks he'll probably do the same. By fortune-- or closeness, or maybe it was on the reservation-- they're all at the same hotel.

James thinks about going to his room, of sleeping off the alcohol he's consumed, and leaving following Nick's wedding. But seeing José. He hadn't been far from his mind anyways.

He follows José into his room.

"I not doing this with you again, James." José sounds exhausted already and James feels bad as he lets the door click shut behind them.

"It's not like that." James says. José frowns at him, toes off his shoes, and flops onto the bed. He seems unconcerned, if James was up to something, leaving himself open to be taken advantage of. James spends a moment looking at José. Just _looking_.

He doesn't appear to be any different.

James swallows.

"I don't wanna keep you up 'cuz of the wedding but… you gonna stay in town? I'd like to… to get a drink with you, something." James says and he feels ridiculous asking it. Especially since it makes José sit back up and eye him with something that was very much suspicion.

"I gotta leave." José says, frowning more.

"Please, lunch then, just like… just a couple minutes. But I don't-- I don't wanna do it now. But tomorrow, please?" He reaches out, but shoves his hands back in his pockets, frightened of what he might do. José's frown deepens.

"Okay. I reschedule. Tomorrow night." José nods.

James doesn't deserve any of it, but as he leaves, he leans against the door as it shuts and lets out a slow breath.

This is his chance.

***  
Nick's wedding is classy, but very Catholic, and very long. James doesn't mind that much except for the Sit-Stand-Kneel, which he hadn't been a fan of growing up either. He's not sure the last time he's been to a Catholic church and as pretty as everything is, and nice as everyone looks, James only has one thing on his mind.

It makes sitting through the wedding difficult. It's like being benched when a game is in extra innings, or sidelined during an injury. Just hours of wishing that you were elsewhere. And he loves Nick-- he wishes he could be more focused. But there's so many people doing readings.

That part, he lets the familiarity of the bible being read soothe over his frayed nerve endings. The verses hand picked to really go in about the love and devotion, of mated souls, of pleasant things. It's at a point, almost like an urging, making him even more affirmed in his decision.

James says his congratulations to Nick and Jess, makes his apologies, and finds José so that they can get out of there. It's almost familiar, with the uncomfortable un-companionable silence as they drive back to the hotel.

It's not like the time apart has made James's heart race any less fast in the face of being alone with José.

They sit at the hotel bar, José looking at the expensive watch he's wearing, that lights up when he tilts it towards him. James spends a few moments looking at José's hands, and at his own hands, and at the ice in his drink.

"I'm not sorry." James says suddenly. He watches the anger flare up on José's face, but he touches his wrist. "Let me explain. Because I'm not-- not about-- _being with you_."

José swirls the stirrer in his cocktail, but he looks mad.

"Maybe-- maybe the words were wrong, or the reasoning, but you _liked_ it. Right?"

It's a risk, James knows, but José's expression gets a little distant and then he nods his head slowly. James feels something like relief flood through him, at least he hadn't been wrong in that.

"But, I don't know, it got out of hand but I thought-- but I felt like-- like…"

James's words get caught in his throat again, like they had before, like he feels like they always will. But if he chokes on them here, he risks losing José forever.

José is watching him, offering nothing, expression carefully neutral as the ice clinks in his glass.

"I wanted-- more than that." James says. "I told you I wasn't good at any of that and it was stuff like… wanting to ask for more. Wanting you to stay. Wanting _you_. Just you without any of the other frills. Without…" He trails off.

José's face hasn't changed.

James finishes his drink in one quick knock back, feeling the alcohol burn and it hits his stomach like a lead ball, burning and painful, and he grips the edge of the bar for a moment.

"Do you know what I mean?" James asks, sounding like he's had a coughing fit.

"No."

James digs his fingernails into the woodgrain of the bar.

"I mean--"

James has to look away from José. From his dark eyes. His soft mouth. The way his skin looks gold in the low lights in the bar.

"I mean," James tries again, "I wanted to take you out. I wanted to like… hold your hand and go out to dinner with you and just _be with you._ "

James can't look at José. He's almost afraid of what he looks like, what he's going to say, how he's going to take it. Everything had been so-- it'd been so jumbled up.

"You wanted to date me."

It's not quite a question. James nods anyways.

He finally looks over at José. He's looking at him consideringly, chin propped up on his hand, his dark lashes framing darker eyes.

"Why you not say?" José asks.

James shrugs.

"I didn't know how. I thought… I don't know. It just never seemed… we were always fighting."

"You start it."

James's mouth quirks into a half smile. But José is smiling too and James chucks him lightly in the shoulder.

"Regardless." James sighs. "I didn't want-- this season to be weird. After everything so I wanted to clear the air."

José's expression dims a little.

"Is all?"

James looks at his empty glass, the condensation on the counter, and then glances back at José. He looks-- sad?

"What, an apology ain't good enough?" James asks. José straightens up and his brow furrows.

"No, I-- I think." José waves his hands a little, like he's trying to calm a wild animal. "I thought you mean-- wanted. Not want to?"

James looks back at José again.

"Yeah, I mean…"

José pushes his drink away.

"You coulda just text that." He sounds petulant and James blinks in confusion. He catches up a moment later, when José is up out of his seat, looking for money to tip the bartender with.

"Wait, wait, fuck, José." James says and he grabs at him, "I didn't mean… I don't mean past tense."

"What you mean, then?" José asks. "You get me all messed up. Dunno anything with you. I'm all upside down and is your fault. Just say what you mean. Just tell me what _you_ want."

James stands up too and slips his hand to the small of José's back, rubs his thumb at the dip there.

"I wanna be with you." James knows it's stupid, knows it's too much, knows it's too far off-- knows that there's so much time to make-up and bridges to build, cracks to fill in. "I think-- you know, maybe someday, it can be me and you."

James jerks his chin in the vague direction of the church they hadn't left too long ago.

José flushes and ducks his head.

"You're an idiot." José mumbles, but he sounds pleased. James draws him in a little closer, nudges him in the direction of the elevators.

"Maybe." James agrees. He can't really deny that. He jabs the button to call the elevator and checks to make sure there's no one they know there, and he slides his arms around José, props his chin up on his shoulder and presses their cheeks together.

Everything he'd denied for himself the last half of the year, everything he'd tried so hard to push away. He closes his eyes and leans on José some, feels him laugh, shaking against James's chest. James smiles too and feels like there's a weight that's been lifted.

James feels himself slide back into place, clicking in.

Where he's supposed to be.


End file.
